A Different Parting
by sherbertglasses
Summary: What if things went just a little bit differently at the end of The Crimson Horror (Doctor/Clara)


"But, Doctor," Jenny pleaded, "Clara. You never explained."

The Doctor clapped her on the shoulder and considered it. "No, I didn't. And I can't."

"You can't?" asked Madame Vastra.

"No, honestly. I don't know why, but there is more than one of her in the universe."

"Perhaps that deal you made," ventured Vastra. "You save the world if the universe saves Clara."

"I made that bargain in a fit of grief to a god I didn't believe in," he brushed it off. "The universe doesn't work that way, not for me. In well over a thousand years, I've learned that. All it does is take."

"But it gave her back," said Jenny. "That Clara in there is living proof."

"But, don't you see? That's what I live in fear of. Twice I met her and twice she died, and I've deduced that the Clara in there is probably the original."

"What makes you so certain of that?" asked Vastra.

"The lack of 'Oswin' in her name. Both other times I met her it was present, but this Clara created that as a screen name: Oswald For The Win, OsWIN"

"Pardon, Sir," said Jenny, "But what in the 'ell do any of those words mean?"

"It's…It's future stuff don't worry about it." He waved his hands.

"Doctor, I am from your future and I am still confused," said Strax.

"When aren't you?," the Doctor snapped. "But that's my point," he continued his previous line of thought. "What if whatever it is that spreads her consciousness throughout time and space is something that…" He couldn't bear to speak it.

"You mean what if it kills her." Vastra finished.

There was silence for a moment, then Strax offered an, as always, straightforward solution. "Then you must simply prevent this from occurring."

"He can't," said Vastra sadly.

"No," the Doctor, even more morosely, said. "If she's never displaced, then I never meet her, then I never stop her from being displaced, etcetera. It's a paradox. It would be the Library all over again." The Doctor covered his eyes, partly out of stress, partly to stop a welling tear.

"You love her Don't you," said Vastra so plainly that it was certainly not a question.

This shocked the Doctor into attention. He sighed, resigned, and averted his eyes because he had no retort. At least, no truthful one.

"Have you told her what she is," asked Jenny, then corrected herself, "At least, that you met her before?"

"No. I can't. Not yet."

"You must!" urged Vastra.

"How?! Do you know what kind of existential crisis that would cause? She'd never be able to reconcile that those women were her. Even I have trouble with it. But most of all, I don't want her to think that she's a replacement. Not even for other versions of herself. She's her own Clara. Clara Oswald. And I know her so well now. Losing her would be a hundred times worse than the others. So much so that even if I met another Clara, how could that one be anything _but_ a replacement? It wouldn't feel right."

"Doctor?" Clara popped her head out of the TARDIS "Are you coming."

"Yes," the Doctor said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

One look at his face and Clara's eyebrows creased. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," and looking at her face it occurred to him. It didn't matter what she was or where she came from. She was Clara, and she was here with him now. And what could be better than that? "I really am," he said honestly. "Just give me a mo to catch up. These are very old friends."

"Okay," she smiled and went back in.

"Have you told her?" asked Vastra.

"I just said-"

"No," she stopped him. "I mean, have you told her that you love her?"

"…No," the Doctor answered, quite ashamed.

Vastra gave the Doctor a stern look. "Doctor, I was almost your analyst* in those three years you sulked on that cloud. I know how much trouble you had with that in the past. I know that the missed opportunities made those losses so much worse. For gods sake you were three years into your marriage before you said it to your own wife."

"Three years on my timeline anyway," the Doctor muttered.

Madame Vastra shook his shoulder, both to get him to look at her and to scold him. "Don't miss this opportunity."

He sucked in a breath. "Thank you," he said, not sure he'd follow through. "I should go. Clara's waiting."

"Yes. She is," said Vastra.

Inside the TARDIS Clara was indeed waiting. She desperately wanted to change out of these heavy, layered, Victorian clothes, but by the way the Doctor had looked when she'd popped her head outside, it seemed like he would need to talk. When he came inside, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders (more than usual, anyway) and with his chest sort of puffed like was preparing for something, she knew she'd been right to wait.

"Old friends, huh?"

"Yeah." The Doctor smiled warmly at her. "They helped me through a very dark time in my life."

"If you don't mind me asking, What did you talk about?" She worried she might be overstepping her bounds.

He looked at her long and hard, and there was something in is eyes, then, very suddenly he grabbed her face and kissed her. Not the quick, closed lipped 'happy we're alive' or 'I'm so glad you figured that out kiss'. It was slow and sweet and his tongue just brushed her bottom lip, but he pulled away before she had the chance to respond.

"That's what we talked about," he said. "They asked if I had feelings for you," which was not a lie, and only half an omission.

She was still quite shocked. "And… do you?"

He smiled at her. "I think I just showed you that I do. Very much. Do, um.." he was suddenly very unsure of himself. "Do you?"

Clara smiled wide and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a much deeper, much more confident kiss. Their mouths opened against each other and their tongues swirled. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in tight. Clara wasn't sure how long it was before they pulled apart or if her answer would still be relevant, but she said "Very much."

The Doctor grinned and said "Now lets get you out of all those layers." He patted her bum _again_ on the way down the corridor. God, how had she not caught on that he'd fancied her before?

{ * Analyst was the Victorian era word for therapist" }


End file.
